


A Journey to Hell and Back

by Rickman_Alan



Category: Patrick Melrose (TV), StartUp (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Dark!Phil, Drug Abuse, Drug Addiction, Drug Use, Drug Withdrawal, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Past Child Abuse, Strangers to Lovers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-17
Updated: 2018-08-14
Packaged: 2019-05-08 00:31:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14682711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rickman_Alan/pseuds/Rickman_Alan
Summary: Major spoilers for episode one of Patrick Melrose. Basically Phil and Patrick are both mentally disturbed, and deserve each other.





	1. "Cause' I'm only Human After All."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is short, but it's okay I think having a short, effective chapter is better than having a long but also shitty chapter. Any who just comment what you think could be changed and I love you all!

 

 

Patrick was going to get his father's corpse, it wasn't pleasant to hear that his last meeting with his father wouldn't be a goodbye, or at least a 'fuck you.' No, it had to be his fucking funeral, but luckily he was also informed that his father's remains were to be burned. 'Good,' thought Patrick, 'Maybe I can throw the bloody thing in a dump somewhere as I float above the clouds.' He told himself smiling at the thought of getting his next high. 

All he had to do now was dress, taking a lovely shower, then get a plane to London. 

 

 

              |                    |

              v                   v

 

It was around 9 o'clock when he arrived at the hotel, his head was spinning and it felt as if he were _burning_ up from the inside out. 

He was shaking, badly at that, and his heart was racing almost a million miles an hour it seemed. But that didn't matter, all that mattered was that he get inside the hotel, call his 'mate' to get the good stuff, then drink booze while shooting up whatever his 'mate' brought; whether it be cocaine, meth, heroine, marijuana, and even oxys while ingesting the delicious burn of vodka with juice. 

After Patrick had arrived in his room he picked up the phone, immediately dialing the man who would get him his next high, 

"Hello this is Melrose, may I ask what you have in stock?" 

The man merely laughed, 

"I've Colombian cocaine, the best heroine in town, and some Fentanyl. Come along Mr. Patrick, the money can wait until later." 

 

This made Patrick smile like Chesire Cat at that, with what 'mate' said in mind he rushed out of the door like a dog that was chasing a cat. Patrick ordered a cabbie then told the driver to drive about a block before his actual location, since the location itself was a place of not so good looks or reputation. 

 

Once there, Melrose got out of the car, paid the cabbie and went off the his usual spot to wait for 'mate.' 

 

         |                       |

         v                      v

 

Phil was on duty as always, but ever since his injury by gunshot he'd been moved to a bit of a safer area in London. He'd occasionally call his daughter and sometimes would even call the people he'd worked on the Start Up with just to see how things went. 

He had to admit even if it hurt like hell to be shot in the stomach, the thrill was very amazing, it's what kept Phil young. Now it was gone, making him feel like an old bag of shit on the side of some fucked up road with no purpose but for the homeless to look through his scraps for food. It was  _hell_ and it was boring. 

 Though that changed when he got a call, it was a drug house and the usual was going on, a client was coming over to take the opiates then become high as the dealer got his hand full of cash. This thought made Phil sigh with disgust at how cruel people can be, getting the victims who were helplessly hooked onto more things to be hung upon. 

So, he went out to deal with this dealer and save the client not matter how hard it may be. 

 

       |                        |

       v                       v

 

Patrick had arrived at 'mate's' house, his mind was already on a train of thought of high, anxiety taking over more and more each second that his veins weren't being stabbed with needles and his heart beat racing to the speed of light. 

Oh how that got him anxious but it didn't take long for the man to come open the door to invite him in, "Come in Patrick, we have much to talk about. Especially when it comes to picking your poison. So... shall we begin?" His deep voice almost controlling Patrick, 

"Y-yes, I'd like that very much." Patrick's shaky voice replied, he was in bad want for 'chasing the dragon', it was practically what Melrose lived for since he didn't have much else. 

And while being escorted in the house Patrick felt a sense of dread come over him, it was like he very shortly snapped back to reality and the place gave him the goosebumps at how dirty as well as  _dark_ it was. 

'My god Patrick,' said David Melrose, 'What will you do when you're sober? Get more drugs, kill yourself even more over someone who's dead as a door nail?'

Patrick swatted at his left ear as if his dad's voice were a mere bug that was buzzing round his ear, "Fuck off," Patrick replied as he continued to follow his drug dealer. 

'You're never going to be anything, you've seen how hopeless your partner and friends are when you say that you will merely give up this addiction like it's that easy. When you're in this deep of shit, my son, it is  **not** at all easy and you know that... Don't you?' His father asked with a mocking tone of voice. 

"FUCK OFF!!" Patrick yelled as he smacked at the side of his head, trying to get rid of David Melrose's voice. 

The dealer turned around, "you fuckin' talkin' to me?" His voice filling with subtle anger. 

Patrick just shook his head, "Sorry, just the bugs and their buzzing.." Said he with a lame look on his face, it was obviously a lie but it seemed to fool 'mate' as he then just shrugged then continued on to his room. 

"This is it, you pick your poison while I find out a price for that poison." He said with a smirk

Patrick's mouth practically watered as he looked at all the drugs in front of him, "I'll take them all!" He said loudly, then all of the sudden the sound of "FREEZE! FBI" was heard coming from behind him. 

 

TBC


	2. "No Angel Can Beacon Me Back, It's Hotter Than Hell Where I'm At"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Patrick is brought into custody with major drug withdraw, leaving Phil to deal with a sweaty, and sickly addict.

Patrick was in hell, the heat in his body was almost unbearable. It seemed only the sweet, forbidden nectar would sate the fire. 

He could only slightly hear the voices of what he assumed were the authorities.

He was seeing only spots of blinding and hazy colors. His eyelids were heavy yet he knew sleep wouldn't come to him if he were to close his eyes. 

"I only need to ask you a few questions." Said an unfamiliar voice, it was soft but held darkness behind its little facade.

Of course Melrose didn't pay mind to him, his ears were buzzing, head throbbing, eyes burning. "'Scuse me, could you repeat that?" Patrick asked with a slur. 

He suddenly felt a sharp pain of something quite blunt hitting his jaw which drew blood from a newly busted lip.

 

 

-

 

 

Phil had seen the poor bloke's condition but held little to no sympathy for him, he hadn't had the time for sympathy. He was there to do a job, so that is what he was going to do. 

"I only need to ask you a few questions." He said softly despite the slight annoyance that he felt within.

All that Phil could do now was wait for this druggy to wake up from his previous buzz which didn't seem anytime soon, and it shocked him a bit to hear how high he sounded. 

"'Scuse me, could you repeat that?" 

 

He knew something that would work very well, and so he threw a punch. Landing right on the man's jaw, earning a grunt from the opioid addict. 

"I am going to ask some questions which you are to answer." He sounded pleased as he proceeded to ask the man questions. 

"Your name?" 

"Patrick Melrose," Replied Patrick.

"Age?"

"32."

"Have you been incarcerated before?" 

"No." 

"And how long have you been doing drugs Mr. Melrose?"  

There wasn't a reply. So Phil tried again.

"How long have you been doing drugs Mr. Melrose?" 

Again, no reply. 

"You don't have to answer that but it'd make this a whole lot easier." 

"Piss off," Patrick said quietly. 

No one was watching since Phil had offered to take Patrick to a certain place which happened to be rather abandoned. Phil could do  _whatever_ he wanted to this man and nothing would be done about it. 

"You know what Patrick? I can fuck you up in so many ways that you'd be unrecognizable by anyone who happens to come across your body... No one would question it since it's just another rich asshole looking for a fix. I rather think they'd just take your money and bolt off somewhere to get some dope themselves." His voice filled with impatience

The look on the British bloke's face was rather satisfying to Phil so he left it at that before ending his questioning. 

"You're going to be locked up with a group therapy session until you're completely well again. Mark my words Mr. Melrose I don't want to catch you with opioids again or they'll be a big price to pay." 

Phil had escorted the man into his car before driving him to the nearest rehab centre where Patrick was to stay for quite some time. 

 

 

-

 

It had been about 3 weeks in the institution and Patrick was falling, falling into an endless abyss and nothing to guide him to the light which couldn't be seen at all. 

He continued to violently shake like he'd been having a seizure which then was medically tended to. The results of the tests usually came back with either an overdose when he'd got his hands on more drugs or a major withdraw symptom. Both were equally awful.

The doctors were often monitoring his health as requested by his therapist. 

 _Drugs, drugs, drugs, dru, dru, dr..._ Patrick's mind couldn't even complete the thought anymore, it was like his mind was just empty. Nothing to fill the void which had made him forget every wrong that David Melrose did to him. The memories of how hard his dad used to beat, or fuck him lingered around each corner of his mind, always there to remind him of what he truly was. 

The therapy sessions were becoming a bit more bearable but usually it was just a repeat of the same thing like  _drugs are bad Patrick,_ or  _you'll ruin your life if you continue this addiction Patrick_. 

People continued to confess to some fucked up things that they had done when they were drunk or high or even both, some even going as far as to confess more than just their bad addictions. It made Patrick feel trapped in an unfamiliar place, somewhere awful and inescapable. 

"Would you like to share a story with us, Patrick?" Asked the therapist. 

His eyes refused to move from his hands which laid upon his lap, gently shaking his head. "No... I would rather not." 

And instead of encouraging him the next person stepping in and began to tell their same bullshit story. The session was a total of 3 hours and Patrick was forced to linger around these people to eat his lunch. The only one here who was even tolerable was someone who he had fucked, to him she didn't have a name or really even a face, she was just a distraction. 

Later that same night Patrick had another seizure, his limps locking in place as he felt his whole body began to convulse while saliva foamed from his cupid bow lips. 

As he was being strolled to the hospital on a metal gurney, he thought, 

 

 _ **It's a fucking nightmare being lucid**_. 

 

TBC  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for not updating, I've had major writers block but I'll try to keep up this time! :)


End file.
